Federation Day
by AnteNomad
Summary: A day in the life of Ensign John Decker, in search of broader significance.
1. Holiday

**FEDERATION DAY**

John Decker's head hurt.

It wasn't much — a dull ache that seemed to come from somewhere around his temples. Hardly worth mentioning, but enough to be annoying. He'd been doing his best to ignore it ever since he'd awakened, but it wasn't working so far.

He was jogging along the transfer line between the USS _Artemis_' fore and aft shuttlebays. Jogging was more the province of the young Trill woman who was currently leading him by two meters or so, but it usually did help to clear his head. It didn't seem to be working today, though.

They were nearing the end of their final lap, the large pressure doors that opened into the starships aft hangar. His companion slowed down, stopping just short of the doors; Decker shook his head, and launched himself into a sprint for the last two and a half seconds. He put out his hands to stop himself on the doors, then joined her in pausing to catch their breath.

"Well, I'm good," said his companion, straightening and brushing a lock of golden hair out of her face. "You're kind of slow today, John. I think you're getting old."

"Thank you, Talasi." Decker rolled his eyes. At 23, Talasi Laurin was less than four years his junior.

"Hey, nothing to worry about." Laurin shrugged, grinning. "With modern medical treatments, you could probably live another...hundred, hundred-twenty years. You want to get some food?"

"I've got work," Decker said gruffly.

Now _she_ rolled her eyes. "In two hours. Come on, I hate eating alone."

He shook his head, which was throbbing now to go along with the ache. "...Fine," he said, raising a hand to his forehead.

Her eyebrows jumped up at the ease of his acquiescence, but she shrugged it off. "Okay," she said, stepping out the smaller reinforced doors that led out into the service hallway. Technically, the 80-by-8-by-4 meter conduit they were leaving should be kept clear of non-maintenance personnel, and used only to move shuttles and equipment between the starship's two hangars; but Laurin had friends on the maintenance staff, and didn't like running in place in the gym.

They were exiting into the main corridor before either of them spoke again. It was Laurin again. "Can I ask you something?" she asked. Decker didn't respond, and she hadn't expected him to. "You always crash into the doors at the end, like you're stress-testing them. What's that about?"

"I don't think the door has anything to worry about," he said flatly.

"Yeah, I wasn't actually concerned from an engineering standpoint," she replied, as the two of them stepped into a turbolift. "Deck seven."

The shuttlebay transfer conduit access had been on Deck 9, so it was a short ride in the turbolift. When the doors opened, a pair of children came piling in before Decker and Laurin could get out of the way; they seemed to be wrestling over a toy whose exact nature Decker didn't know and wasn't interested in.

"Hey, woah!" said Laurin, as the kids struggled to find new centers of balance. Both forgot about holding onto the toy; it sank to the floor, which it bobbed a few centimeters above on an antigrav field. "There a problem here?"

"No, sir," said one of the kids, a boy whose blue skin pointed to Bolian ancestry.

"And where are you going without your parents around?" Laurin asked, with a friendly smile as she knelt down to pick up the toy.

"Just back to our rooms, sir," said the other, human boy. "We had breakfast with my mom and Bloris's dad, and they said we were big kids could go back to our quarters by ourselves."

"Your parents let you bring toys to breakfast?" asked Laurin. "They must be pretty nice. Which one of yours is this?"

The second boy raised his hand. "I was just showing it to Bloris." He looked accusingly at the first boy. "Then he wouldn't give it back."

"I was checking something!" insisted the second boy.

"Okay, okay," said Laurin. "Looks like you've got some important issues to work out, but we've probably held up the lift long enough. Go on home, okay?"

The boys nodded, and Laurin stepped out of the turbolift to join Decker, who had stayed clear of the kids for the whole time. "Deck eight, please," said the second boy as the doors slid closed.

Decker silently started aft, towards the ship's main lounge. Laurin fell into step beside him. "I love how cute Honak's kid is," she said. "Looks just like him, too. Except tinier."

"When did kids start coming back on starships, anyway?" asked Decker.

Laurin raised an eyebrow. "Uh, when the war ended?"

Decker shook his head, and didn't speak again as they headed aft to the main crew lounge. The room was more subdued than the average ship's lounge, with replicated wood paneling on the walls and warm, subdued lighting optimized for a casual atmosphere. It was also sparsely occupied: it was 05:54, so Gamma shift was on duty, Beta shift was asleep and most of Alpha shift was still in its quarters.

Laurin broke off to chat with the attendant at the bar, while Decker made straight for the replicator. "Mariner waffles, with maple syrup and Altair water," he commanded. "And a PADD." His breakfast, and the PADD, appeared in the machine's alcove, and he took both to a dining table.

The table had an excellent view, looking out the pane windows that were set directly above the aft shuttlebay. They were just below the level of the catamaran hulls that connected the _Akira_-class starship's crew section to its warp engines and weapons pod, and which framed the view outside; but for the most part the scene was clear of all but the stars.

Decker didn't pay it much heed, using the PADD to call up a bookmarked file on his personal database as he began cutting into his waffles.

"_Now_ I wish I had a timer," said Laurin, sitting down across from him with a plate of Osmir legs. "Really, John, the Federation won't collapse if you're away from your PADD for half an hour."

"It's already been half an hour," said Decker. "Spent that running between shuttlebays. Are you really having Osmir legs for breakfast?"

"Well, it's dinner for me," she replied, shrugging. "What are you reading?" When Decker didn't answer, she snatched the PADD from him and ignored his protest. "...a counter-insurgency scenario book?" Shaking her head, she handed it back. "John, you really need a new hobby."

Decker just took another bite of his waffle, rubbing his forehead.

"You know it's Federation Day?" she asked. "Suki just told me."

Decker sighed. "...What's Federation Day?"

"Apparently, today is the two hundred fourteenth anniversary of the day the Federation was founded," said Laurin. "In Earth years, anyway. You've never heard of it either?"

"Should I have?" he asked.

"I thought humans _loved_ anniversaries," said Laurin. "When I was at he Academy, it was like we couldn't go two weeks without seeing something about how on this day, the French Revolution began or the Third World War ended, or somebody's god was born, or somebody's god died...whatever. But when we get to the founding of the Federation — you know, probably the most important thing you guys ever did for the galaxy — there's nothing. I mean, what, there's some parade in Paris, I think, but where's the tree and the fireworks and the giant dinners?"

"How should I know?" asked Decker.

"I was thinking it was a chronological thing," she said. "I mean, the Federation's got a hundred sixty-eight member worlds and I don't even know how many protectorates and colonies, and a year's a different length on each of them."

"Sure," said Decker, who had stopped listening.

"We could go by stardates, maybe," Laurin continued; "but then, the stardate system wasn't in place when the Federation was founded, and I guess extrapolating backwards just to schedule a party could be kind of odd. Maybe if they took an average of the lengths of a year on every member world — or even just the founding members, and then set it to —"

"I'm trying to eat," Decker grumbled.

Laurin shrugged. "I guess I'm wondering about the symbolism. I mean, this crew is, what, seventy-six percent human, something like that? That's close to three hundred fifty humans, and at least one of them knows what day it is. And this is a Federation starship; you'd think people would care about Federation Day."

"There's no such holiday," said Decker, focusing intently on his PADD. He was trying to read the same line of text for the fourth time.

"Well, why not?" Laurin asked. "Some guy who tried to blow up the British Parliament five hundred years ago gets his own holiday; why doesn't the Federation?"

"I don't care," Decker growled.

"You're not curious?" asked Laurin.

"Do I _look_ curious?" Decker demanded.

"Not really."

"Well, let's assume I'm not."

"Thing is, all your expressions are kind of similar, though."

Decker rolled his eyes. "I'm _not_. That clear it up for you?"

Laurin shrugged. "So how long do long do you figure this mood of yours is going to last?"

"Mood?" Decker asked.

"Yeah," said Laurin. "You know, as in 'moody'? Come to think of it, maybe it's a good thing you're not talking to your parents."

Decker looked up to glare at her. "..._What_?"

"Sarah mentioned it last time she wrote," said Laurin.

"How the hell did that become _your_ business?" Decker asked.

"_She_ brought it up," Laurin said nonchalantly, ignoring the mounting anger in his tone. "It's kind of weird to see you avoiding someone."

He glared again. "Do I look like I want to talk about this?"

She shrugged off the look. "You never look like you want to talk about _anything_. Are they mad because you single-handedly suck the joy out of the universe?"

"Look, just _don't_, okay!" he snapped, getting Laurin's eyebrows to jump up for a second. "No, I don't get along with them. Yeah, it's because I'm not easy to get along with — and also, neither are they. We done sharing for today?" Wincing, he raised a hand to his temple as he returned to his breakfast.

"...You feeling all right, John?" asked Laurin.

"I'm fine," he said, not looking up.

"You're acting kind of like your head hurts," she persisted.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"Does your head hurt?" she asked.

He glared. "I'm _fine_."

"You should stop by Sickbay," she said, unfazed. "You know how they are about headaches. Could be there's some kind of telepathic mind-control that's making you such a prickleskunk."

Decker stopped glaring long enough to frown. "Prickleskunk?"

"It's an animal on Trill," she explained. "It's prickly, and it repels you with pheromones. And the spines, too, I guess. I've never actually seen one."

"...Whatever," said Decker, shaking his head.

"I'm just saying, I've seen you be nicer," she said.

"I've seen you be less annoying," he retorted. "Try to correlate that."

"Not _much_ nicer, I guess," she said, frowning off into the middle distance and ignoring him; "at least not recently. But noticeably so, anyway. Unless I was just projecting. I mean, all observations are subjective, so maybe I just subconsciously wanted you to be nicer sometimes. You know, for variety." She took a breath. "Or—"

"I'm going to Sickbay," said Decker. He stood and exited, leaving Laurin and his mostly-eaten breakfast at the table, but taking the PADD.

—

By the late twenty-fourth century, headaches had gone the way of cancer and the common cold to become one of the rarest ailments a person could suffer. Because all the common causes were easily preventable by the kind of routine medical care that any Starfleet officer received in the course of standard physical evaluations, most of the medical causes that remained involved severe neural degeneration that required intensive treatment, and possibly reconstructive brain surgery.

Doctor Taro Aldis, however, didn't look especially worried.

"Stress," he pronounced, less than fifteen seconds after Decker had entered Sickbay.

"Shouldn't you scan me first?" Decker asked, a little annoyed.

"Probably," said Aldis, retrieving a tricorder from a nearby equipment shelf. "On the biobed, please." Decker got on the nearest biobed, and Aldis aimed the scanning device at Decker's head. "Any other symptoms? Sleep disorder, eating disorder, other aches or pains?"

Decker hesitated. "Nothing unusual."

Aldis raised his eyebrows. "So the nightmares are normal?"

Decker blinked, then glared at him. "Were you reading my mind?"

"Sorry," the doctor said. "You were thinking quite loudly." He closed the tricorder, and tapped a command into the biobed. "Well, what do you know. Elevated stress levels. You have a special mission coming up?"

"I'm on standard detail," said Decker. "And Bridge night watch."

"Right," said Aldis, picking up a PADD. "I'm scheduling an appointment for you with Counselor Achende."

Decker blinked. "—What?"

"Medically, you're fine," said Aldis. After tapping a series of commands into the PADD, he set it down and picked up a neuralizer. "This will take care of the headache for now, but it'll recur unless you deal with the underlying stress."

"Why don't _you_ just tell me why I'm stressed and how to fix it?" Decker asked, as Aldis held the device up to his temple; a blue glow dominated his peripheral vision, and the headache disappeared amid a tingling sensation.

"Because I'm Betazoid," Aldis said. "Not psychic. Besides, just because I _can_ read your mind doesn't mean I _want_ to go digging around in it." He set the neuralizer down. "You're done, Ensign. Counselor Achende will be expecting you this afternoon."

Shaking his head, Decker left.

—

"Good morning," said Lieutenant Honak to the two dozen security officers gathered in the main office. "This shift's emergency code is Delta Three-Three Bravo. We're intercepting a Dopterian freighter later this morning, so Teams One and Two should be ready for inspection detail. Also, Ensign Decker will be pulling a half-shift today; Ensign Varah will be joining us early from Beta shift if need be."

Decker sighed, and shot a glare at Laurin when she cast a glance his way; she didn't bother to hide her amusement.

"That's it; you may get to work," Honak said. "Mr. Decker?" Sighing, Decker followed the security chief into his office as the other officers dispersed to their workstations. "Bloris didn't give you any trouble this morning, did he?"

Decker blinked; he hadn't expected Honak to have heard about that yet. Then again, Honak heard about everything pretty fast. "No, sir," he said gruffly.

"Kids," said Honak. "I've reminded him repeatedly that playing in the halls isn't the sort of thing we're supposed to do on a starship; but it's all a big game to them, isn't it?"

"Wouldn't know, sir," Decker said.

Honak nodded. "Well, Ensign, obviously you and Team One are set for inspection on the _Hopatibla_ in a couple of hours." He had a rather smooth way of abruptly changing the subject, and he used it a lot. "Now I have a medical note recommending light duty. What's the problem?"

Decker sighed. "My head hurt."

"And?" asked Honak.

"And it's not a problem, sir," said Decker. "I can handle the inspection."

"Headaches are quite rare in your species," Honak pointed out. "They're usually symptomatic of a deeper condition."

"I don't have a condition," Decker said. "—Sir. The doctor already checked me out."

"The doctor's the one who recommended light duty," countered Honak.

"It's a health and safety inspection on a Dopterian light freighter," said Decker. "I can handle it, sir. I'm perfectly capable of doing my job."

Honak looked at him for another moment, and shrugged. "All right," he said. "Well, go on and get to work, then."

Decker nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said, then turned and cleared out of the office for his desk.

"How'd you get the half-shift?" asked Ensign Powell, who occupied the station next to his, as Decker sat down.

"Headache," Decker said gruffly. He pulled up his security team's designated coverage area, which included the _Artemis_' catamaran section and the torpedo pod attached to it. The seat opposite him was taken by Petty Officer T'Rig, his team's systems chief.

"Oh," said Powell, frowning. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," said Decker. "It's just a headache."

"I got those all the time at the academy," Powell offered. "Usually right before exams. I didn't say anything because I was worried it would hurt my psych evaluation. Turns out it hurt more that I tried to cover them up."

"Mmh," said Decker, aiming for neutral indifference but landing nearer annoyance.

"Humans seem to devote quite a bit of effort to ignoring their mental state, or mitigating it with technology," said T'Rig. "It seems a poor substitute for true emotional control."

"There's nothing wrong with my emotional state," said Decker testily.

"Humans tend often to say that regardless of their actual emotional condition," said T'Rig. "It must complicate the diagnostic process considerably."

Decker glared. "Why don't we do a perimeter check now?"

T'Rig raised an eyebrow. "My initial scan shows no inconsistencies. I'm in the process of a detailed analysis."

Decker nodded, and started work at his own console. It might have been his imagination, but he felt like the headache was already coming back.

—

"I have a permit for that!" insisted the Dopterian freighter captain, as Decker pulled an isomagnetic disintegrator out of a hidden compartment in his freighter's cargo hold.

Decker looked from the captain to the weapon, which was probably large enough to blow through a decent-sized shuttlecraft. "Why, exactly, do you need a disintegrator in your cargo bay?"

"You know how this sector is," said the Dopterian. "I've got to ensure my cargo and passengers the best security latinum can buy."

"How many of these do you have?" Decker asked.

"That's privileged information!" insisted the captain.

Decker rolled his eyes. "See this?" he asked, pointing to the arrowhead symbol of his commbadge on his uniform's left breast. "I'm with Starfleet Security. We _issue_ the permits in this sector. Now when we say we want a full inventory of weapons carried aboard your ship, stuff like this is pretty much exactly what we're talking about."

"I have every right to provide security for my vessel," said the captain, puffing himself up to stand almost level with Decker's shoulder. "I need guarantees that any information I give to you will remain secure."

"...You're worried we won't keep your information secure?" Decker asked incredulously.

"If Starfleet could secure this sector properly, I wouldn't need weapons like this at all, would I?"

Exasperated, Decker waved over Ensign Laurin, who had been sneaking glances at his exchange with the captain.

"What's going on?" she asked, then stopped when he saw the weapon. "Woah, nice disintegrator. Breen, CRM-120, right?"

"One twenty-_two_," said the Dopterian proudly. "It's got the adaptive modulator for enhanced shield penetration, _and_ basic tricorder functions."

"Nice," she said, testing the weapon's heft. "Feels light, too; antigrav stabilizer, right? How much did this thing go for?"

"Check his permit and inventory," said Decker, rolling his eyes. Leaving the two of them and the weapon alone, he went off to check another section of the cargo bay.

"Everything seems to check out, sir," said Ensign Powell, who was scanning crates with another security officer. "Prefab housing kits, basic computers, stem bolts...nothing remotely illicit."

"This guy has Breen disintegrators stuck inside his bulkheads," said Decker. "He needs them to protect his haul of stem bolts?"

Powell shrugged. "If he's hiding anything more valuable, we haven't found it yet."

"What have you got left?"

"We're done with the crates. Just another few minutes to finish the hull scan."

Decker nodded, and tapped his commbadge. "Decker to _Artemis_."

"_Honak here,"_ came the security chief's voice. _"What have you found, Ensign?"_

"Cargo looks clear for contraband," Decker. "We're finishing up the hull scan, and this guy has got Breen disintegrators stuck in his bulkheads. We're working it out."

"_Good to hear,"_ said Honak. _"On schedule, I assume?"_

"Plus or minus five minutes," Decker replied. "We just need to —"

His sentence was interrupted when something behind him exploded.

Decker spun around, to see that the bulkhead next to where he had just been arguing with the Dopterian captain now contained a good-sized hole, with shrapnel scattered across the floor and stuck in a few of the crates. And Ensign Laurin was lying on her side nearby, blood staining the back of her head.

"_Artemis_, we have an officer down!" he exclaimed, charging back to the scene. "We need an emergency medical beamout, right now!"


	2. Reflections

Counselor Achende's office was, as usual, lit to about half standard brightness; the lights covering the chair where he sat and the couch opposite it were brought up to standard, which helped create the impression that the patient and the counselor were the only things around. Or at least the only things worth noticing. To wit, the office was sparsely decorated; a few paintings and cloths mostly from around the African Confederation decorated the walls, and an incomplete Kurlan _naiscos_ figurine sat on his desk.

Decker took notice of none of this, sitting on the couch without a word.

"Well," said the counselor. "How do you want to do this?"

"One of my team is in Sickbay right now," said Decker. "I _don't_ want to do this."

"Well, you're going to anyway," said the counselor pleasantly. "And that sounds like as good a place as any to start." His tone lost all traces of flippancy. "How is Ensign Laurin?"

"Flesh wound," said Decker. "She'll recover."

"What happened?" asked Achende.

"We were inspecting the freighter," said Decker. "Captain had a belt of photon grenades stuffed in a secret compartment. Secondhand charges he didn't know how to store properly; the containment shell on one degraded to the point where our scanning set it off."

"But you didn't know all that at first, did you?" asked Achende. "All you knew was there'd been an explosion and there was an officer down. Right?"

"Right after it happened?" asked Decker. "Yeah. What else _could_ I know?"

"So what did you do?" asked the counselor.

"What the hell do you think I did? I called for a med evac."

"And then?"

"And then I figured out what happened," said Decker, exasperated.

Achende nodded. "You knew the freighter captain had undeclared weapons before the grenade went off, right?"

"...Yeah," said Decker, frowning.

"You'd just called it in to the ship when the grenade exploded."

"What's your point?" Decker demanded. Achende shrugged. "You think I should have known this would happen? Look, we followed protocol. There's no way you can predict which ridiculously unlikely set of circumstances will combine to blow up in your face."

"That's an interesting profession you've chosen," said Achende, raising his eyebrows. "...So you don't feel responsible."

"I _wasn't_ responsible. The captain was, for hoarding equipment he didn't know how to manage and then lying to us about it."

"Hmm," said the counselor noncommittally.

Decker rolled his eyes. "This is the part where you just keep feeding me rope and wait for me to walk myself into some kind of confession?" Achende just shrugged. Decker folded his arms, leaning back in the chair while still glaring at the counselor. "I'm responsible for my team. My team did their jobs."

Achende nodded. "Okay, then."

"Okay, then," Decker repeated. Silence hung for a few seconds afterward. "So are we done?"

"How well do you know Ensign Laurin?" Achende asked.

Decker sighed. "Met her at the Academy. Lost touch afterward. Then we both got posted here."

"Okay," Achende said. "So you're friends."

"Sure," said Decker, perfunctorily.

"She was just injured on a mission you commanded."

"I know," Decker growled. "I was there."

Achende nodded slowly. "Tell me about the _Ajax_."

Decker frowned. "What does _that_ have to do with this?"

"Humor me."

"It was a ship," Decker said. "I served on it. It got destroyed."

"But you weren't on board when it was destroyed, right?"

Decker rolled his eyes. "_Obviously_ not."

"_Why_ not?"

"I got transferred off."

"Why?"

"Everyone got transferred off."

"But you never got transferred back. Why not?"

"I was at Spacedock."

"Why?"

"Psychiatric evaluation. This is all in my file."

"No kidding. Want to tell me something that isn't?"

"The file's pretty comprehensive."

"Try for me."

"This is stupid," Decker said, standing. "What do you _want_?"

"I want you to pretend, for the next half-hour, that I'm a trained professional and know what I'm doing." Achende's voice had become sharp. "You're here for a reason, Ensign. I do what I do for a reason. Please have a little respect."

Decker glared at the counselor for another second before breaking eye contact, sighing, and sitting back down.

Achende nodded. "Let's start with New Year's Eve."

"_Which_ New Year's Eve?" Decker asked.

"You know which," said the counselor. "Think back, and tell me what happened."

–

_The ship's bridge is in such terrible shape that it is barely recognizable as such. An entire wall has collapsed inward, and half the consoles have blown out; one still has the corpse of its former operator hunched over it. There are only three officers left alive._

"_Hard starboard!" demands one, the captain. "Now!"_

"_I'm trying, sir!" calls another, the pilot and now first officer. "The thrusters—"_

_The bridge rocks and lurches to the left. Another console blows out, but no one as enough free time to care._

"_Decker, have you found them yet?" calls the captain._

"_Yes, sir!" he replies from what is being used as the tactical console. "Bearing 074 mark 6 — but it won't do us any good; the phasers just crashed!"_

_The captain shakes his head, and activates his commbadge. "Sinclair to Drazen, report!"_

"_I've almost got it set, Captain," replies a woman's voice through the comm. "But there's no guarantee we won't have another misfire!"_

"_No time for that now," says the captain. "Just reset and fire!"_

"_That's risky, Captain."_

"_Furball rules, Drazen. Do it!"_

"_Got it. Out."_

_Stars are wheeling by on the viewscreen, which is barely functioning; and the tactical plot is completely gone. "Rimar," calls the captain, "roll us to starboard, then hard up. Mr. Decker, hold the lock as long as you can!"_

_An insistent red light appeared on the console. "Incoming!" he yells, just before the scene explodes again._

–

"Start anytime," Achende prodded.

Decker shrugged. "...Stardate five one triple-nine. We try to break through Dominion lines."

"Back to Federation space."

"Yeah, back to Federation space," Decker snapped. "Where the hell else would—" He shook his head. "It didn't work. We got intercepted. We managed to disengage."

"And?" asked Achende.

"And we were stuck in Dominion space for another two months," said Decker.

"How long had you been there already?"

"Four months," Decker said irritably. "Two plus four is six. I've told you this already."

"Yes," said Achende. "But you've left out the part that matters."

"Being trapped behind Dominion lines for six months doesn't matter?" asked Decker.

"Not in the abstract," said Achende. "What happened to you while you were trapped there, _that_ matters. That's why you're trying so hard to avoid talking about it. And that's why you'll have to, sooner or later, if you want these sessions to end."

Decker leaned forward, head resting on his interlaced fingers and elbows resting on his legs. "I was cleared for active duty," he said, eyes closed.

"And then you were referred to me," Achende said. "And here we are. Now, let's get back to the _Ajax_. And what happened on New Year's Eve."

–

"_Incoming!" Decker yells, a second before the bridge is rocked again; one corner of his console explodes, singing part of his uniform. "Aft shields are at maximum tolerance!"_

"_I can't shake them!" calls Rimar._

"_Engineering to bridge; we've got the warp core back online!"_

"_Rimar—" begins Sinclair._

"_Aye, sir!" agrees Rimar, and a second later, the ship jumps to warp._

"_They didn't expect that," says Decker triumphantly. "They're falling behind—for now."_

"_Rimar, how fast can we go?" asks the captain._

_Rimar shakes his head. "I can't get us past five point six; they'll catch up in no time."_

"_Weapon options?" asks the captain._

"_Phasers are still down," he reports, opening the comm. "Jenn, I could really use the aft torpedoes!"_

"_Trust me, John, I'm not holding out on you!" came the reply. "There's something wrong with the seal!"_

_A new light begins beeping on his console. "They're gaining on us!" he calls. "Weapons range in eight seconds!"_

–

Decker hesitated, lifting his head enough to look at the counselor. "Jenn," he said. "That's when she died."

Achende nodded. "Who was Jenn?"

Decker straightened, folding his arms. "Jennifer Drazen. The _Ajax_'s chief engineer."

"Is that how you introduced her at parties?"

"We didn't get invited to many parties on that side of the front lines."

The counselor fixed him with his best unamused look. "Who was she, Ensign?"

Decker rolled his eyes, glanced away, glanced back. "We were engaged."

Achende nodded. "How did she die?"

Decker let a few seconds pass without answering. That stretched into half a minute; he sat motionless in his seat, staring at nothing; he would have responded sooner, but none of the answers were coming together.

"I killed her," he said.

–

"_They're re-establishing the lock!" Decker calls._

_Now on the viewscreen is an image of a Jem'Hadar warship, closing rapidly._

"_That's it, then," says Sinclair. "Fire torpedo!"_

_Decker moves to do so, but hesitates, staring at the warning light for the aft torpedo room._

_Sinclair turns around in his chair, glaring back at him. "Lieutenant, fire!"_

_A warning tone informs Decker of a solid weapons lock. He looks at the viewscreen, and sees the warship nearly filling the display, its torpedo tube glowing blue. Then he swallows, and closes his eyes._

_And he fires._

–

"That's not a very helpful characterization," Achende said.

"It's what happened," said Decker.

"Well, it's certainly what you've told every counselor who's pressed you on the subject," said Achende.

"And now I'll need to do better, right?" Decker leaned forward again. "You want details? The _Ajax_ had Mark VI photon torpedoes. Focused blast; they channel their full explosive energy in the direction of impact. Smaller explosions, more damage; work better in close quarters. Really excellent weapons. But like the Mark I through V, the casing has to be converted into a cohesive photon shell just prior to firing. And if the firing chamber isn't sealed, that can't happen. The _Ajax_'s aft firing chamber happened to be damaged in just that way."

"And you were in the middle of a battle," said Achende.

"Jenn didn't have time to repair the seal. So she used a magnetic brace to leverage it closed. But she had to be standing _by_ the launcher, holding the brace, to do that. The brace held the seal long enough for the torpedo to be primed, but there's always that little extra backwash when it's actually fired." He took a breath. "I fired the torpedo. Firing the torpedo killed her. _I_ killed her."

"Why did you fire?"

"I didn't know she was —" Decker stopped, willed the strain out of his voice. "There was a Jem'hadar warship bearing down on us. Captain Sinclair told me to fire."

Achende nodded. "Do you think there was another way out?"

"She just needed more time!" Decker snapped. "She could have sealed the launcher and got out of there. But I didn't give her that." He was breathing heavily. "I was scared. We could probably have taken another hit, and one torpedo from us might not even have done anything. But I saw that ship on the viewscreen, and I was scared. So I killed her."

"You were following orders. Was Captain Sinclair scared, too?"

Decker's eyes had fixed on a particular one of the wall hangings, a patterned cloth in gold, red and black. "She just needed more time," she said.

Achende leaned back in his seat, waiting for a moment to pass before speaking again. "If you'd known she was still in there," he said, "would you still have fired?"

It was several seconds before Decker responded at all; and he didn't answer. "...I need to file an incident report for what happened on the freighter," he said, standing.

"Really?" asked Achende. "You didn't do that before you came here?"

"We had an appointment," Decker said. "I wanted to get it over with."

"And now you have an excuse to leave early," said Achende. He stood. "You can go for now, but I want to see you back here at 18:00."

"I'm on duty at eighteen hundred," Decker said.

"Not until I clear you, you aren't," said Achende. "I'll do that when we've got to the bottom of this. When _that_ can happen is your choice, Ensign."

Decker shook his head, swaying as if he wanted just to make for the door, but restraining himself. "...Why now?" he demanded. "_Ajax_ was a year and a half ago. Why the hell are we having to go through this now?"

"That's what we're trying to find out here, Ensign," Achende said quietly.

Decker clenched his jaw, and stalked out of the room.


End file.
